


The Unrest of the Noldor, Fourth Age

by elennalore



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drunken Confessions, Fourth Age, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Mental Health Issues, Re-embodied elves, Tirion, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elennalore/pseuds/elennalore
Summary: Finrod wants to meet newly re-embodied Maedhros. They go to a bar and have a talk.
Relationships: Amarië/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Finrod Felagund | Findaráto & Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	The Unrest of the Noldor, Fourth Age

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for excessive alcohol use and mild swearing. It's a bar night.

Finrod knows he’s late. The evening bell has already chimed when he enters Mirimë’s bar. It’s a rainy evening in Tirion, and he has walked a long way down the hill. He lowers the hood of his rainproof cloak as he enters, and Mirimë nods at him a sign of recognition behind the bar, then giving him a generous smile.

“Evening, Mirimë!” he exclaims and smiles back at her. The bar is full of people, but he can’t see the one he is looking for. “Is my friend... Do you know if he has already arrived?”

“Oh, sure. But he looked a bit uncomfortable being in the crowd, so I already let him into the meeting room. You’re welcome to join him there. Do you want anything to drink, dear?”

“Yes please. For me... and for my friend as well. I think a bottle of red wine and two glasses would be fine for now.”

Only now Finrod realizes he’s being rather nervous about the meeting. It felt such a good idea a week ago. Mirimë is his old friend, and very trustworthy. Her bar is a cosy place in the Downhill area where the younger generations of Tirion like to spend time. Most of her customers have never been in Beleriand. Not in this, neither in previous life. Mirimë included. They are more interested in what will happen in this fashionable Downhill district next week than what happened in Middle-earth three Ages ago.

A perfect place to meet a former war criminal.

If Mirimë has guessed who his friend is, she doesn’t say so. She understands Finrod’s need to sometimes go to a bar incognito, and invite friends, too. She is happy to rent her private room in the back of the bar for Finrod whenever he needs it. Once he was here with Amarië and Artanis. That was a great night, they had so much fun together. This night will probably be a bit different.

It was Finrod’s own idea, of course. When he heard about Maedhros’s re-embodiment, his first reaction was astonishment. _Out of Mandos before Fingon? There must have been some kind of mistake!_ But as his father confirmed the rumours, Finrod suddenly feared that Maedhros would be terribly lost in this new world without Fingon as his anchor.

And there are some things you can only talk with those who have been exiled.

Therefore, he sent a letter and suggested a meeting between friends. In Mirimë’s bar, directions included.

Maedhros’s reply was a short ‘yes’, signed with a mere M tengwa.

And now they are here, supposedly. Finrod inhales, and exhales, then pushes the door open.

The tall man sitting by the table turns his head to face Finrod as he enters the room. It really is Maedhros, and he somehow looks both very young and ancient at the same time. Young because all his scars are gone from his face – or not really gone, Finrod notices, but they are but slight memories of the previous, real scars. Yet, the look in his eyes is hard, and the light of his eyes is almost too intense. Those eyes have seen ancient horrors.

And he has cut his magnificent hair – he must have done it himself, by the look of it. Námo wouldn’t let him enter his next life looking like a thrall – or a rebellious modern Tirion elf.

He hurries to meet him, and for a while he just holds his cousin in a warm embrace, until Maedhros withdraws.

“You look good, Findaráto.”

“You, too.” He doesn’t ask about the hair. Now is not the time.

Maedhros puts his hands on Finrod’s shoulders – both of his hands, he has two of them again, Finrod is happy to notice – and gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Your cloak is wet,” Maedhros comments, looking at his hands.

“It was raining outside!”

Maedhros is speaking Quenya in an accent that is irritatingly Fëanorian. It makes Finrod think of the past, and he doesn’t want to, at least not yet. Fortunately, Mirimë arrives just then with the wine bottle he has ordered.

“This is a very nice natural wine from Tol Eressëa”, Mirimë announces happily. “It is said that they had this variety of red wine grape even in Númenor. Here’s a glass for Lord Ingoldo” – she pours dark red wine in one of the crystal glasses – “and another for his friend” – she watches Maedhros intently and Finrod can see the curiosity growing in her eyes. A tall, red-headed Noldo, serious-looking, dressing in an old-fashioned way – everything in Maedhros shouts _exiled, reincarnated Noldo_. Thankfully his clothes are not visibly decorated by Fëanorian stars.

“Thank you,” says Finrod and tastes the wine. It’s really good, Mirimë knows her thing. He gives a little smile to Mirimë. “We’ll call you if we need something more.”

“Please do!” she says. “There’s some food you can order as well. A meat pie, or salmon soup. I’m afraid I don’t have anything so fancy as that time when you were here with Lady Artanis, that was a special dinner, but...”

Finrod grins. “Thank you, Mirimë, we might have some supper later.”

When Mirimë leaves them alone, Finrod sees that Maedhros is trying very much not to laugh.

“What is it now?” he asks, feeling that Maedhros somehow laughs at him, and it’s annoying, but to see him laughing at all makes him so happy that he is ready to forgive him.

“You were here with Artanis?”

“Yes, once. Mirimë loved her, she always wants to remind me of that particular visit. We had a very good eve...”

“And special dinner?”

Finrod turns to look him in the eye. Even his eyes laugh a little now, or that’s how it looks at least.

“Well, you heard what’s on a menu here usually. Knowing that she is used to fine dining, I had to warn Mirimë beforehand. She really did her best that evening.” He pauses for a moment. “Perhaps I should tell her that a former King of the Noldor is her guest today, just to see the look on her face!”

Maedhros stops laughing. “Don’t you think she already knows who I am?”

“You are not so infamous as you think you are. You’ve been away a long time. These are new generations of elves. Most exiles live on Tol Eressëa, not here. Hey, Downhill is the new Tirion, so you can relax. I think she can see you are re-embodied, but that’s all.”

“Perhaps we should taste some of that wine she brought us,” Maedhros says. “Thank you for inviting me out, Findaráto.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Nelyo.”

* * * * *

Finrod tells Maedhros funny little stories about the elves Maedhros used to know, and Maedhros tells him about his minor mishaps as a newly re-embodied elf. They have a pleasant chat. A couple of glasses later Finrod dares to leave the small talk behind.

“So... how long have you been out of Mandos, really? If you said it before, I didn’t catch it.”

There’s an odd look in Maedhros’s eyes. “I didn’t, because I’m not really sure.”

“Oh.” He hopes Maedhros wouldn’t leave it at that, because he really doesn’t know what to say next.

Fortunately, Maedhros continues. “At first, I just wandered away from the gates of Mandos. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t have the will to go anywhere. I just knew I wanted to go away from _there_.

Something in his voice makes Finrod shiver. “You didn’t like being in the Halls, did you?” His own stay had been so short that he remembered it mostly as an invigorating dream.

Maedhros sighs. “How can I explain? Perhaps I liked it there, sometimes it felt like a dream. But the loneliness... that was too much. Being alone with my thoughts. I tried to reach Finno, I knew he was somewhere near me, but Mandos wouldn’t let me. He said I should stop interfering in Finno’s healing!”

Finrod can hear the pain in Maedhros’s voice. “That must be hard, being there together but not able to meet.”

“Not able to touch, not able to see each other, not able to connect! Yes, it was bad. The loneliness would have killed me – if I hadn’t been dead already.” Maedhros takes a sip of wine and continues his grim story. “But it was only when I started to hear voices in my head, Mandos became really worried.”

Finrod has several questions ready, but he doesn’t dare to interrupt.

“It wasn’t Finno, sadly, although I had hoped so. I was missing him so much. It was such a quiet voice at first, I had difficulties hearing what it said. But gradually it became louder, and when I could hear the words, I understood whose voice it was.”

Finrod finds himself staring at his cousin in disbelief. He can’t help himself asking: “Whose voice was it?”

“My father’s, of course. And when Mandos found out that Fëanor can communicate with me, he knew he had to release me, or otherwise Fëanor would have become so powerful that not even the walls of Mandos would have held him.”

Finrod doesn’t know what to think. He fears that the long stay in Mandos has taken a heavy toll on his friend. That, and all the traumatic events in Middle-earth. But on the other hand, they are talking about Curufinwë Fëanáro here. Who knows what he is capable of, truly? Perhaps he can reach his son’s mind in Mandos. It is unheard of, but is it impossible?

“You don’t believe me,” says Maedhros.

“You must explain me this a little more,” Finrod says gently. “How do you think it is even possible? Everyone knows you can’t communicate with other fëar in Mandos.”

“I asked him the same thing. He said it’s something to do with Vairë’s weaving. He has found a way to interlace his thoughts with Vairë’s threads, and manipulate them to his own needs. Or something like that.”

“That sounds like a very dangerous thing to do,” says Finrod carefully.

“That’s what he does!” Maedhros snaps. “Dangerous things.”

“...and very complicated,” Finrod continues. “Why do you think he would do something like that?”

“To get information. He asked me questions about the world. And to give me orders.”

“What orders did he give you, Nelyo?” Now Finrod is positively worried. Either Maedhros is imagining things, or he is really getting orders from Fëanor, which is probably just as bad.

But Maedhros doesn’t answer his question. “I was actually relieved when Mandos said it was time for me to leave. It was getting overwhelming. But after he released me, I didn’t know where to go. I don’t belong here. Not without Finno. He said Finno still needs time. Can you believe that – that Fingon would need more time to heal than me!”

 _Perhaps you are not all healed yet_. To Maedhros, he tries to find something encouraging to say. “I bet Fingon will find that funny when he is reincarnated.”

“I guess it was a couple of months ago,” Maedhros says suddenly. “Yes, I was re-embodied a couple of months ago. I walked around in Yavanna’s gardens, never meeting anyone and it was actually a very good time. But then one day, Huan found me, and he told Celegorm, and he came looking for me – well, that was how I got back to civilization!”

Just then the door opens and Mirimë’s head peeks in. “Would you like to eat something, boys? A meat pie perhaps, and with it a mug of beer from the local brewery?”

“That sounds good,” manages Finrod to say before Maedhros interrupts him. “Sorry, I don’t eat meat.”

Finrod has totally forgotten about it. After he was rescued from Angband, Maedhros never could eat any meat whatsoever. Fingon had once explained to him that it was because they fed Maedhros some very bad things back there. Finrod should have remembered that. Obviously, the urge to avoid meat has followed Maedhros into his second life.

Suddenly, Finrod doesn’t want a meat pie either.

Mirimë sees his expression and gives an encouraging smile. “No problem at all!” she exclaims. "You two are my special guests tonight, I can make something special for you. Would you like a platter of fried vegetables, and potatoes, perhaps with a nice mushroom sauce? And some cheese? I’ll just check the cabinet, see what I have available.”

“Thank you, that sounds excellent,” Finrod says, relieved. “We would like to try some of that local beer, too, won’t we, Nelyo? You can add all that and some extra to my bill.”

Mirimë eyes Maedhros curiously as Finrod mentions his nickname, and he worries that she has recognized it, but she doesn’t say anything.

* * * * *

Mirimë’s food is good as always. Finrod is happy to notice that Maedhros enjoys eating the fried potatoes and chantarelle sauce, and lets himself relax. When Mirimë returns to collect the emptied plates, Maedhros wants to order a second bottle of wine for them.

“And what kind of wine shall it be for Lord Mysterious?” Mirimë asks in a jovial manner. “Red, white? Something from Endor, perhaps?”

“You have wine from Middle-earth?” The thought seems to fascinate Maedhros.

“Well, not actually. Impossible when the road there is lost, of course. But I have red wine from the grapes that are originally from Middle-earth. Some elves who sailed back have started to grow them in their vineyard. They are quite popular among some of the previously exiled.” She smiles pleasantly at Maedhros. “I don’t want to be nosy, but are you one of those who were exiled? Being Lord Ingoldo’s friend, and all that.”

Finrod feels the tension in the air – or is he just imagining it? But Maedhros only gives a curious look at the waitress and says: “I was. But there were no vineyards in Beleriand. The climate was colder than here.”

“So I have heard! But these are from Gondor, it’s a newer kingdom. Kingdom of Men! But they are friends with the Eldar, and they gave the grapevine plants as gifts for those who returned.”

“That’s a lovely history,” Finrod interrupts, fearing that all that discussion about Middle-earth will make Maedhros uneasy, although he doesn’t look like it. “Well, shall we taste some Endor wine, then?”

“Definitely,” Maedhros says, and Mirimë hurries back to the kitchen.

“She has never been in Middle-earth,” says Maedhros after she has left the room. “So many of our people have never been there. They don’t know what it was like, back then.”

“But we do,” Finrod declares. “And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

* * * * *

By the time the next wine bottle is half finished, Finrod realizes he is somewhat drunk. When he visits the restroom his gait is a bit unsteady. The bar is full of young at heart elves in stylish clothes and fashionable haircuts that look nothing like Maedhros’s. They stare at his old-fashioned Noldo style with awe and respect, and their wary looks make him almost giggle. Maedhros and himself, and the rest of the crowd are like two different worlds.

Finrod escapes back to their private room. He falls to his chair and can’t hold the nervous giggle anymore.

“Did you notice the crowd in there before?” Finrod exclaims. “They are so young, so innocent!”

“Compared to me, everyone is innocent.”

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy, it doesn’t suit you. Why the short hair, by the way? If I may ask? It looks so odd; I haven’t seen you like that since... since Findekáno brought you back to us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want you to...”

“Fuck, Findaráto, you don’t have to treat me with kid gloves.” Maedhros pauses and reaches out his hand to gently touch Finrod’s arm. “You have been there, too.”

Finrod takes a sip of wine, deeply moved by his friend’s words. A stone falls from his heart, and his smile brightens. Their meeting could have gone much worse.

“Ai, my dear Maitimo,” he says, wiping his eyes.

“The case of the haircut,” Maedhros continues, running his fingers though his short and wavy hair as if noticing it for the first time, “is such that when I was released from the Halls, I realized I’m still not free. I don’t have Finno on my side. I can’t go where I want to go. I feel the eyes of the Valar on my back all the time. I guess I’m being watched by the Valar in case I start killing people again, or something. I wanted to show them how I feel about it. Something like _fuck off, I know I’m still a prisoner._ ”

“Where would you like to go, then?” Finrod wants to lighten Maedhros’s mood, so he shares one of his silly secret wishes with him. “I myself would go back to Middle-earth!”

“Me too,” Maedhros says. The look in his eyes is intense and cold. “Isn’t it odd that after everything that has happened, we still want to return there?”

Something in Maedhros’s voice makes Finrod shiver, and he sips some more wine. “It’s a different place nowadays. Beleriand is no more.”

“I know. Tyelko and Curvo explained it all to me. A shame.”

“But it doesn’t matter!” Finrod feels that he may have finally found someone who understands his silly wishes, and he continues enthusiastically. “I want to meet Men again! And Dwarves! I want to learn from them, to see the world the way they do! They are so much livelier than the Eldar around here. After living in this bliss such a long time I can tell you a secret, Mae: Aman is pretty boring!”

Finrod can see a slight smile appearing on Maedhros’s face now, and it warms his heart.

“Well, Middle-earth was never boring, that much I can say.”

“If only we could go there!” Finrod exclaims. “But the Straight Road is not open for us to return. Or so I have heard.”

Maedhros doesn’t seem to know what he is talking about. “Straight Road?”

Perhaps only now Finrod realizes how long Maedhros has really been away. “The world has changed a lot since the last time you were alive. The Road is open only for those who return to Aman. You can’t sail back to Middle-earth anymore. Or walk,” he can’t resist adding, and he wants to bite his tongue at that. Maedhros seems nonplussed, but fortunately Mirimë opens the door in that awkward moment, checking to see if they needed something. There’s a surge of relief in Maedhros’s eyes. He orders himself more booze, and Finrod orders the same as his friend.

* * * * *

Finrod’s head is spinning. He knows he has become very chatty, and he talks a lot about Amarië although he starts to feel that perhaps Maedhros isn’t so interested in hearing about Finrod’s love life while his soul mate still abides in the Halls. But he can’t stop talking about her now.

“We don’t actually live together, you know. She is not suited for city life, and I’m too comfortable living in Tirion. But we love each other beyond measure, and the distance between us means nothing in the end. When we meet it is always worth the wait.

“She has been serving Vána a long time now. She lives in her gardens most of the time, and I know serving the Valië is such a meaningful practice for her. She went to her gardens after we left Aman back then; she wasn’t allowed to come with me, you know. Vána was a great consolation to her.”

“It’s a good thing she wasn’t allowed to come,” Maedhros says, staring his half-empty glass, and in his heart Finrod feels his friend is right. Her fate could have been the same as Elenwë’s, or worse.

However, the times have changed.

“She knows I want to go back there if I find a way!” Finrod reveals their little secret. “And this time, she wants to come with me. She has dreamed of walking in the forests and meadows of Middle-earth. If the Valar ever allow me to return there, I’ve vowed to take her there with me, whatever it takes!”

“That’s a very stupid vow to make. Because I would have liked to ask you to come with me to Middle-earth.”

“Yes, let’s go there together! That’s a great idea!”

“I don’t want to be responsible for Amarië coming with us.”

“The evil is banished from the Middle-earth, Nelyo. It’s not like it was. And the Valar should let us go there if we want!” Finrod declares and hits his fist on the table, but it’s only mock anger. He believes there will be a way to go back, there must be. The Valar are merciful; they will let him go back to Middle-earth if they learn how much that means to him.

* * * * *

“I miss him,” Maedhros confesses later. His speech is slurred. “I miss Finno, although I have no right to feel that way. He can never forgive me for what I have done. Perhaps Mandos was right; I should try to forget him.”

“I’m sure lord Námo didn’t mean it that way, Nelyo.”

A heavy silence falls. Finrod knows that nothing he says can lift the gloomy mood of his friend. Fortunately, Mirimë enters the room, and Maedhros raises his eyes from the table he has been staring. Her smile is genuine, and Finrod is happy to see Maedhros smile back to her, albeit weakly.

“So, how is everything with my lordly guests here? I will be closing soon; would you like to still order something?”

“I don’t want to go out there,” Maedhros mutters and hides his face in his hands.

“Oh,” Mirimë says and touches gently Maedhros’s shoulder. Finrod can see his muscles tense, but Mirimë holds her hand there in a compassionate way. “I can see something is bothering you, Lord Mysterious.”

Maedhros raises his head and pushes her hand away. “I’m Nelyafinwe Lord of Destruction. It can’t be helped.”

Mirimë’s eyes briefly meet Finrod’s, and he can see the dawn of understanding there.

Finrod begins to worry about Maedhros. He surely has drunk too much. In his current mood, Finrod doesn’t want to leave him alone with his increasingly gloomy thoughts.

“Do you think we could stay?” he asks Mirimë. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I think it would be best if we didn’t leave just yet. Perhaps we could spend a night here tonight?”

Mirimë understands. Of course they can stay. She will bring them blankets, and they can sleep on the floor. It will be a bit hard and uncomfortable, she fusses, but Finrod assures her that it’s not a big deal, they have endured worse.

After a while, the two of them make bed on the floor with blankets Mirimë has provided. Finrod puts out the lanterns and goes to lie beside Maedhros who seems to be already asleep.

But not quite.

“You didn’t ask me why I want to go back to Middle-earth,” Maedhros whispers in his ear. Finrod can feel his friend’s breath close to him. _Not now_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t dare to.

“Why, Nelyo?”

“Because that is what my father is asking me to do.”

Finrod has a horrible sinking feeling when he realizes what Maedhros must be talking about. “It is the voice you hear in your head, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my father’s voice. He says I have to go back to Middle-earth. He says I have to find Maglor before it’s too late.”

 _Isn’t it already too late?_ Finrod wonders. He doesn’t like the way Maedhros talks about the voice in his head. It can’t be real, can it?

“Do you want to go there?” he asks Maedhros in a silent voice. “I mean, do you really want to go? Or is it only because of what that voice says?”

But Maedhros doesn’t answer anymore. He must have fallen asleep. And after a while, although he was sure he couldn’t get any sleep that night, Finrod joins him.

* * * * *

In the early hours of the morning, Mirimë returns to her bar. She wants to check that everything is fine with Lord Ingoldo and his friend. The night ended in a strange mood, and if Lord Ingoldo’s friend is who Mirimë thinks he is...

But when she softly opens the door, she can see the two elves gently sleeping facing each other, the redhead’s back towards her. In the dark room they radiate the light of the old days, and it’s a fascinating sight. Slowly and in complete silence she enters the room and kneels in order to watch them closer.

Mirimë is startled as the redhead suddenly turns around and catches hold of her wrists. She might have given a little squeak of surprise. For a long moment the two of them just stare at each other. His eyes glow in the dark. Slowly he seems to recognize Mirimë and releases her.

“Don’t you ever sneak in like that again,” he says in a low voice.

“I’m so sorry, Lord Nelyafinwë, I won’t do that again.”

A pause. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Mirimë shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I was stupid, I didn’t think. You can go back to sleep now.”

She leaves the room and shuts the door behind her. Her hands are shaking. She has heard a lot of stories of Nelyafinwë Fëanárion, some of them quite vile. But he radiates the light of old, and he is Lord Ingoldo’s friend, so he can’t be all evil.

Mirimë decides to make some breakfast for her unusual guests. When they wake up, they will be thirsty and hungry, and they will be happy when she has a proper breakfast waiting for them. And perhaps also some willow bark tea for headache.

**Author's Note:**

> This stand-alone fic just could become a start of a new story cycle. Perhaps. I've got a feeling that this story belongs to a same fic-universe as my fic _Walk Through the Darkest Valley_ , and after I have finished writing it there might be a sequel connecting these two stories. We'll see what happens.


End file.
